The Killer Touch by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online

scarcely closed when her treatment ceased to be therapy and became a caress. Her fingertips tingled along his jaw, up behind his ears. She blew softly on his neck.
    Burt jumped, and she laughed. “Are you one of those men who let a woman do it all?”
    The fact that he’d half-expected it didn’t dull the surprise of hearing it spoken. She was, if not making a proposition, unmistakably inviting one. What the hell did this island do to women, anyway?
    â€œI was wondering,” said Burt, “if you found everything intact in your purse.”
    â€œCertainly,” she said in a disinterested voice. Then, curiously: “What has that to do with it?”
    Burt shrugged. Of course she wouldn’t mention the heroin, and he’d better drop the subject before she suspected that he knew. Strange that the woman showed none of the drug’s stigmata; still, it was hard to pick a well-fed hypo out of a crowd, unless she happened to be on the nod or badly strung out …
    â€œYou understand about this afternoon,” she said, leaning forward in a way that brought a soft double-pressure against his back. “I wanted to invite you in for a drink, but I knew he was coming. I didn’t want him to find—”
    Burt laughed.
    â€œWhat’s funny?”
    â€œI’ve seen women who come on strong when their husbands are near, then turn cold when it’s safe.”
    â€œOh?” Idly, her fingers stirred the hair at the back of his head. “You think I’m one of those?”
    â€œI think you enjoy the game, yes. I could die of old age waiting for the pay-off.”
    â€œTell you what you do, Sergeant March. You know the island. You name it. Time, place, everything. I’ll meet you.”
    Burt stopped laughing. “I think you’re trying to set me up, Mrs. Keener. Don’t.”
    She was leaning on him, her chin gently gouging his shoulder. Her breath was warm in his ear. “What are you afraid of, Sergeant March? I thought cops weren’t afraid of anyone.”
    â€œThat’s enough. I’m leaving.” Burt started to get up, but her arms slid around his neck and pulled him back. The soft breath against his ear became wetness, then sharp, biting pain. He twisted and overturned the chair. He fell and felt her soft form rolling beneath him. He struggled to his feet and put his hand to his ear. Warm blood trickled down his neck. He felt foolish and resentful, as though he’d been tricked into performing in a slapstick comedy.
    â€œDamn!” Burt looked down at the woman. Her beach robe was in drastic disarray, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was laughing, and there was a bright red wetness on her lower lip.
    â€œYou need a good beating,” he told her.
    â€œReally?” She sat up with her arms braced behind her, stretching her long muscular legs out on the concrete floor. “Go ahead, Sergeant. Do your duty.”
    â€œOh hell—!” He whirled and tore open the screen door. Behind him her laughter trilled high above the sound of the surf. As he walked back to his cabin, he realized this was almost the same scene he’d walked out on earlier. Except that Joss had no ulterior motives; or if she had, they were hidden even from Joss herself. Mrs. Keener had a sick thing going, and Burt had a feeling her husband was a part of it.
    He took a shower before going to bed. It helped a little.

THREE
    Next morning Burt found a shining new padlock on the door of cabin two. He shoved his hands into his pockets and regarded it with a feeling of frustration; he had merely glanced toward the cabin as he walked along the beach, feeling normal curiosity, and now … now he felt an aching desire to go in. The detective syndrome, he thought; you see a locked door and you want to look behind it. Or is that a burglar syndrome? Maybe there wasn’t much difference.
    He walked toward the club. It was a gray day, and a steady